


Leprosus I: Carnifex

by Jen Hall (Greenlady)



Series: The Seidhrman [4]
Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-22
Updated: 2010-09-22
Packaged: 2017-10-12 02:45:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greenlady/pseuds/Jen%20Hall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hutch's old friend Marcus wants to create an official police force for Rome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leprosus I: Carnifex

Starsky moved the last silkworm cage into position with Ignatios' help. Hutch had insisted he could do some of this work, of course, but Starsky had been adamant. Until his shoulder was healed, he was doing no physical labour.

'Wounds are no joke, Hutch. I know how you feel, believe me. I'm the world's worst patient, and the next time I get hurt, you'll regret ever meeting me. But this wound will leave a scar on your body. Not like the ones you got in the Otherworld. The more you rest that shoulder, the better it will heal.'

Starsky had kissed the wound in question. It would be the first large scar to mark Hutch's beautiful flesh. He had never fought in war. Perhaps he had never played in violent sports, either. Maybe his parents had kept him away from such activities, lest he fall into a vision and reveal his status as a Seidhrman? Maybe the other boys had not wanted to play with someone rumoured to be different? Or maybe he had played, and just been lucky.

Starsky went in search of his lover, to be sure that he wasn't trying to move heavy furniture around, or mucking out the stables. Starsky had caught him doing both those things the other day, and had threatened to beat him if he tried it again. Hutch had laughed, with a great deal of justification. There was as much chance of that happening, as there was of the Greens turning into a Benevolent Association, and helping old ladies across the street.

Hutch wasn't in the stables, or moving furniture. He was singing. Starsky could hear him from down the hall, as he got close to the atrium. He stopped in the doorway, stunned by the sight. Somewhere or other, Hutch had found a harp. A large harp, made of some dark wood, carved and traced with gold paint. He was tuning it, tightening the strings, and singing.

Hutch swept his hand across the strings, producing a glorious arpeggio. Then he sang:

'When Roland sees his friend and comrade die, And on the ground face down before him lie, With tender words he bids him thus goodbye: 'Sir, my companion, woe your valiant might! Long years and days we lived side by side, Ne'er didst thou wrong me nor suffer wrong of mine. Now thou art dead I grieve to be alive.'

Starsky applauded as the last notes died away. 'Wonderful,' he said. 'But so sad. Where did you get the harp?'

'I found it in one of the storerooms. It was covered with blankets and hidden behind boxes. I got the servants to move it here, so don't look at me like that. Are you happy that your threats have terrified me into submission?'

'I'm thrilled. That was from The Song of Roland, right? What made you think of singing that?'

'All Marc's talk of warrior lovers. The Theban Band. Alexander and Hephaistion.'

'Roland and Oliver.'

'Yes. And the Guardians. Many of them died in battle. The Theban band were wiped out by Alexander and Hephaistion. Ironic, isn't it?'

'What do you think of Marcus's idea?'

'I like it. He's treating me like an equal, for once. Not just trying to do things for me. He wants my help, and I can see he means it.'

'A police force. Here in Rome, for a start. Then in Ostia. I don't know. The people won't like it.'

'That's where all the history and legend comes in. If people think it's not something new, but something traditional brought back to life....'

'The Guardians weren't exactly a police force.'

'No. So we have to be careful that people don't see it that way.'

'You're really serious about this? You're really thinking all these things through?'

'Aren't you? It's what you wanted, to be a detective. You'll have more opportunities this way, than you would have with the City Guard.'

'Yes. With the Guard, I'd be spending most of my time patrolling the walls, and the outlying districts.'

The City Guard was a home defense unit, for the most part. But they did investigate murders which took place in the public streets or parks. Starsky was interested in methods of detection. It was a science, he said, which was still in its infancy, but it was destined to improve with time.

'Okay,' said Starsky. 'I'm in. Let's tell Marcus.' He moved up to the harp, and laid his hand on it. 'Gillian's harp? I didn't know she had one. I never even knew she played.'

*****************************

'Good afternoon, Gentlemen. Welcome to Sweet Angel's House. How may I pleasure you?'

'Are you Sweet Angel?'

'No. My name is Delicia. I offer many delights.'

'I'm sure you do, but we're here to speak with Sweet Angel,' Hutch informed her. 'Is she available?'

'Sweet Angel is always available, for a price. But that price is a very large price. Are you up to it? Perhaps your eyes are bigger than your... wallet?'

'Delicia!'

'Madam?'

'There are clients waiting. I'll take care of these visitors.'

'But, Madam!'

'Go, Delicia. All this constant argumentativeness isn't attractive to everyone.'

'Yes, Madam.'

The argumentative, and scantily dressed, Delicia moped off, looking back over her shoulder at the two very good looking, and very well dressed gentlemen who had just been appropriated by Sweet Angel. The bitch! Yes, it was her house, but why should she get all the good clients?

'I must apologize for Delicia's behaviour, Sirs. She's new here, and hasn't quite learned all our ways.'

'You're forgiven,' Hutch assured her. 'She didn't offend us, anyway. I found her amusing.'

'I see. Well, how may we serve you, if I might ask?'

'If you are Sweet Angel, we'd like to speak with you privately.'

Sweet Angel looked them over, thoroughly. Good clothes and good manners didn't mean shit, she thought. Some of the worst clients she had ever serviced back in her early days as a lupa, had been dressed to kill. Sometimes literally. She remembered....

But there was something about these two men that reassured her, so she led them to her private office. It wasn't really the way they walked so close together. Rapists and killers sometimes hunted in tandem. She couldn't put her finger on what it was that told her to trust them, but she had made her fortune by following her instincts.

They sat side by side, on one chair. The big blond on the seat, the slightly smaller, darker man on the arm beside him. The darker man leaned forward.

'My name is David Starsky, and this is my husband, Kenneth Hutchinson.'

Sweet Angel nodded to them, respectfully. 'I am pleased to meet you both,' she said. 'I am indeed Sweet Angel, and I own this house. If you want to look over our girls, you are welcome. But I don't have any boys. Please don't be offended, it's just not what we offer.'

'No. That's not why we're here,' Kenneth Hutchinson smiled at her, and her heart dropped into her feet. So, he wasn't interested in women. Too bad, but what could you do?

'We really must apologize for taking up your time, and we will pay you for it if you wish, of course. But we only want to ask you some questions.'

'Questions?'

'Yes,' the darker one, with the fierce blue eyes, answered her. 'Did you once have a girl working here named Gillian?'

'Gillian? I don't remember.'

'It was a few years back. Maybe, um, ten or so? If you were here then?'

Sweet Angel laughed at the man's attempts to be tactful about her age.

'Ten years ago? It's possible. I can't remember the name of every girl I had working for me that long ago. But I do keep records, for legal reasons, among others. Is this for legal reasons?'

'No,' said Hutchinson, the blond one. So, these men did work in tandem, whatever their commission was. 'It's for personal reasons.'

Starsky spoke up again. Of course. It was his turn. 'My Uncle Isaac married Gillian. Things went wrong with the marriage and it ended tragically.'

'Those marriages often do,' said Sweet Angel. 'But that's not my fault.'

'No, of course it isn't.' The blond leaned forward, and fixed her with his gentle eyes. 'We're not here to blame you, or to blame anyone here. We just want to find some evidence to clear her name.'

'Clear her name?'

'She was accused of being unfaithful to her husband,' said David Starsky, 'And she killed herself. But we think she was innocent. If you could give us any information about her at all, we'd appreciate it.'

'And pay you for your time as well,' Kenneth Hutchinson, of the soft voice and sweet blue eyes, added.

Sweet Angel wondered what had really been in those pills she had taken last night. She had to stop that, if taking unidentified drugs led to hallucinations like this. Beautiful men showing up in a whorehouse, claiming to want to clear the name of some whore? Right. Happens all the time. Eventually she'd wake up, and she would laugh about this fantasy over wine with some of her friends.

In the meantime, she'd go along with the dream. Gather more information to laugh about. Make a real tale of it.

'Well,' she said. 'I'll check my records for a start. See if I did have a girl called Gillian. Then, I can ask around. See if anyone else remembers her.'

'That's wonderful, Sweet Angel,' said Hutchinson. He got to his feet and offered her his hand. So polite. Such a gentle, strong hand. 'Keep track of how much time you spend on this. We don't want you to lose business over it. But we do really appreciate your help, as Starsky said.'

Sweet Angel led them to the door of her whorehouse, and watched them walk away, into the streets of Ostia.

*******************************

Prince Marcus' limousine pulled up at the gate, just before sunset. The gatekeeper, one of their beefy new security guards, looked a bit pale as he let the limo inside, but managed admirably, considering the fact that his last job had been as a bouncer in one of the roughest of Ostia's waterfront taverns.

'Why the heavy muscle?' the prince asked, as he got out of the car. He was dressed in a very formal toga, with the deep purple band of the Imperial family.

'Now, now Marc. You have your secrets and I have mine.'

'Not fucking him, are you?'

Starsky felt a red rage swell up inside, and only by force of will did he keep from committing high treason by punching the heir to the Imperial throne on the nose.

When he came back to himself, the prince was studying him in a very interested manner. Hutch didn't seemed to have noticed. He was laughing, and making light comments about letting Marc have the guard later, for dessert.

'But he's not my type, Marc,' he added. 'You know that.'

'Not really mine, either. And I don't like anonymous fucks all that much.'

'What if he fell in love with you, or something, and then every time you dropped by, it would be so embarrassing.'

They continued on to Hutch's study, spinning wilder and wilder fantasies around a completely fictional fuck. Starsky had never quite seen Hutch like this. It made him just a little jealous, because they still weren't quite that easy together. Not in this silly, childhood friend way. Perhaps they never would be. That hurt, a little. He felt Hutch's hand on his arm in a gentle, sensual caress. That was something no one else was entitled to.

'Starsky and I have decided to take you up on your offer. We like the idea of the Guardians, even if we're not exactly sure how it will work.'

'That's great news,' the prince said. He was sprawled comfortably in a big, overstuffed chair. 'One of the ideas I've had the last few days, is that we need publicity about you. Something that makes you look like heroes.'

'What? You want to set something up?'

'Not at all. This has to be genuine. The people aren't total fools, whatever some of my family think. No. What I mean is, let's keep our eyes out for an opportunity for you to show what you can do. Like that scene in Ostia the other day.'

'I'm not sure what we can do,' said Hutch.

'Solve a crime that no one else has paid any attention to. Stand up for someone's rights, like that street singer. When the people of Rome start to see that you are on their side, against the criminal element, but that you're not out to take away their freedom, they won't be so quick to rebel when I suggest setting up the Guardians.'

Starsky ventured an opinion. 'That does make sense. We won't be an unknown element to them. We won't be a faceless, anonymous police force, with unknown purpose and powers.'

Hutch looked at him, proudly. Starsky heard a slight sound at the door, and looked up. It was Ignatios, who clearly had news for his masters, but was nervous about interrupting their conversation with their powerful guest. Hutch noticed this at the same moment, and excused himself to confer with the servant.

'What is it, Ignatios?'

'Excuse me for interrupting, Sir. But there is a... lady at the gate who wishes to speak with you.'

'Is it a lady or not, Ignatios? You sound uncertain.'

His master didn't sound too pleased about his uncertainty, thought Ignatios.

'Well, Sir, she says her name is Sweet Angel, and that name is rather well known.'

'Yes? She is a lady, Ignatios, in this house, whatever anyone else may say. I'll forgive you for your slip this once, but never again.'

'I'm sorry, Sir. Would you like to speak with her?'

'Yes. Bring her here, and send for some refreshments. What do the ladies of Rome like to eat and drink in the evening? That sort of thing.'

'Yes, Sir.'

Starsky watched Hutch closely, as he walked over to the door to speak to Ignatios. He saw the sudden stiffening of his lover's spine, and nearly levitated off the chair he was sitting on. But Hutch told off the servant and sent him on his way. Starsky thought Ignatios had more sense than to insult Hutch in his presence.

As Hutch came back into the room, Starsky saw that he didn't look insulted, but interested.

'What was that all about?' he asked.

'Sweet Angel.'

'The Madam?'

'Yes. She dropped by to see us.'

'Ah. And Ignatios wasn't too pleased?'

'Just confused, I think. I explained things to him, and everything's fine now.'

'Good,' said Starsky.

There was a small stir at the door, and Ignatios was ushering the Madam inside.

'The Lady Sweet Angel!' he said.

Ignatios walked briskly down the hall toward the kitchen, trying to hold on to his composure. It was a battle he had been losing for several days now. Since the day he had entered the service of Master David Starsky, in fact.

He had served the Starsky family all his life, some 30 years now. His father had been freed only a few years ago, at 50, as was the Starsky family tradition, and served the family as a freeman. His father was now a citizen of Rome. He could wear a plain toga, and vote. Ignatios had had every hope of living long enough to be freed as well, until he had been given to Master David as a wedding gift.

Now, he spent every day walking on eggs. Master David had gone away to some barbarous northern wasteland of a country, far outside even the Provinces, and come back with a barbarian witch as a mate. The Witch had a big wolf as a pet. He looked a bit like a huge pale wolf himself. He wore silk, and gold, on an everyday basis. When he wasn't wearing a toga with more purple on it than his own husband, that is. The Witch was the foster brother of Prince Marcus himself, and the prince had just shown up at the door for dinner, as casually as you please.

The Witch invited Madams of famous whorehouses into his study to have a little chat with himself and the prince; and his husband, Master David, just smiled, nodded, and dismissed Ignatios with another of those looks that told Ignatios that his hesitancy in ushering 'Lady Sweet Angel' into his home had not gone unnoticed, and nor would it go unpunished. Ignatios wasn't sure which of his masters terrified him the more.

The Witch? The Witch had pale blue eyes that looked right through you, and on into the next world. His pet wolf sat at his feet, or paced beside him, like a lap dog. He never raised his voice, but spoke always in soft, gentle tones. Ignatios was not fooled. Under that gentle manner was a will of iron. He had Master David firmly under his heel, whatever he pretended about his husband being his Lord and Master. Ignatios had actually witnessed Master David kiss the Witch's feet, and refer to him as his God. Of course, that was when they were in their bedroom, and everyone knew you couldn't take that sort of conversation too seriously. But still.

Master David? The Starsky family were of the Equestrian Class, the class of soldiers, bankers and big businessmen. Ignatios had never served with any of his masters in the field, and so he had never seen one of his masters kill another man before. Master David had tortured the man a little before killing him. It was Ignatios' opinion that only the Witch's gentle hand on his husband's arm had stopped him from carrying the torture further. Master David had looked as if he were enjoying every moment of the torture, indeed as if he had been wanting to do something like that, to someone or other, for some time now. Ignatios wondered who that someone was. He wouldn't be in that person's shoes for any amount of money.

Ignatios reached the kitchen, and made up a tray of refreshments himself. The cook was already in a tizzy over having to cook dinner for Prince Marcus. Ignatios hated to think what she would say about having to feed a whore as well.

'Have a seat, ma'am.' Hutch deliberately slurred the title a little more than was strictly necessary, as if to stress that he wasn't saying 'madam'. He held out a chair for Sweet Angel. Starsky and Prince Marcus, both of whom had actually risen to their feet as she had entered the room, sank back into their own chairs as she sat down. Sweet Angel felt a bit embarrassed.

'Please,' she protested. 'I'm not really a lady.'

Prince Marcus made a dismissing gesture with his hand, and said something about all women being ladies in their souls.

When Sweet Angel had first entered the room, and seen the other occupants, it had been all she could do not to turn and run. But Kenneth Hutchinson had taken her hand, as if she had indeed been a lady, and introduced her to the Prince. The Prince himself had actually taken her hand. When he touched her, a little thrill went straight from her hand, down to her vulva.

This was something unusual for Sweet Angel, who had long ago lost any interest in sex as a pleasure. It was all work to her, now. In the last two days, she had met three men who made her clitoris sit up and take notice. The first two were obviously unavailable. One would have thought that the prince was also out of reach, if not for the little sidelong glances he was giving her.

For many years, men had looked at Sweet Angel in lust, as a possession, as a servant to do their sexual bidding. They stripped her naked and thrust their cocks into her with as much tender care as if she had been a side of beef.

Later, as a more privileged and senior lupa, she had been able to pick and choose, and she had picked and chosen those who gave her the best gifts. Sometimes, the gifts were in payment for the bruises, and the aching muscles, the next morning.

Now, she was a madam of her own house. She had few clients of her own, mostly because she was just so tired of The Game. She hadn't felt moist and warm between her legs for years, nor had she had an orgasm. But Prince Marcus was actually flirting with her. What was this? She felt dizzy, sitting in this room, being treated like a lady by three handsome men. It almost made her forget why she had come here in the first place.

'So,' said Hutch. 'To what do we owe the honour of your visit?'

Sweet Angel was silent for a moment, looking down at her lap. When she looked up, her eyes were a bit distant and sad. She lifted her hand, to show them a scroll, in a leather case.

'Sirs, after your visit yesterday, I went through my records, and spoke to some of my older girls, as I promised.' She paused for a moment, to give Starsky and Hutchinson a chance to say that they did not want her to speak in front of the prince. But Starsky just nodded.

'Yes? Go on,' he said.

'I did have a girl named Gillian. I had just bought the house, and a number of the older girls had decided to remain with me. She was one. She was already a privileged member of the house, accepting only her favoured clients. One of them was your uncle, Isaac Starsky.'

Starsky spoke up. 'So, she did see other men, while she was seeing him?'

'At first. But after about a year, she announced that she was only accepting Isaac into her bed. Most of her former clients accepted her decree. After all, there are always other lupas. But one did not. He broke into her room one night, bound and gagged her, and forcibly raped her. After that, I gave orders that he was not to be allowed in my house. My girls are whores, but they're freewomen, not slaves, or animals.'

'Ah.' said Hutch. 'And what was this other man's name?'

Sweet Angel was silent again, for a moment. She looked up at Starsky, her eyes filled with both fear and sorrow.

'He was another member of your family, I'm afraid.'

Starsky jumped to his feet, and began to walk back and forth. Everyone was silent for a long moment, as he seemed to be struggling with some strong emotion.

'Are you saying...'

'I'm saying that his last name was Starsky. It's not exactly a common name in Rome. I assume he's a member of your family. If he's not, I apologize.'

'No need to apologize. Just tell me his first name.'

'It was Simon. Simon Starsky.'

David Starsky let out a breath that he'd hardly been aware he was holding. Not my father, he thought. Not my father. The relief was so great that he actually laughed, then apologized, instantly.

'Sorry,' he said. 'I'm not making light of the events. I'm just relieved that... never mind. Simon Starsky is one of my older cousins. He's a bastard. Well, not literally a bastard. But figuratively speaking. This is all making some sense now, Hutch. Hutch?'

'I'd forgotten.'

Hutch's voice. Not Hutch's voice. Starsky turned to look at his lover. His lover. Not his lover. His lover's eyes had gone black.

'Hutch.' he said softly.

Viggo crawled out from under Hutch's desk where he had been sleeping. He sat down at Hutch's feet. Hutch was swaying in his seat, obviously in a trance.

'I'd forgotten,' he said again. 'Forgotten so much. But I remember him, now. He told me he'd make me pay. That a whore like me had no right to tell him he couldn't fuck me. That I was just a hunk of meat like all women. Only good to be fucked, and to have babies.'

'Nice,' commented Prince Marcus.

'I was all... ripped up inside after. I wouldn't see Isaac for days. Somehow he found out why. He came to my room, and asked me to marry him.'

'Yes,' said Sweet Angel. 'I told Isaac Starsky what had happened. I thought he wouldn't want to touch Gillian again. But he asked her to marry him, right after, and she left the house. I never saw her again. How did you know?'

It was the prince who answered her question. Both Starsky and Hutchinson seemed lost in another world, gazing into each other's eyes.

'Ken is a medium. He's speaking with the ghost of this Gillian person.'

'No. Not speaking with me. He is me.'

Hutch's face and body flowed and metamorphosed, into the face and body of Gillian Starsky.

'Hutch? Don't let her take over,' Starsky warned, suddenly afraid.

'It's all right. She hasn't taken over. I told you, I have bound her spirit. We are one. I have her memories, and I have her spirit body.'

'Hutch, I think I understand what might have happened. If my cousin hated Gillian for turning him down, he might have been the one to spread the lies.'

Prince Marcus spoke up. 'That might be true, but how do you prove it?'

'Now that I know, I can confront him.'

'You're thinking of confronting him in that form?' 'This form, yes. As Gillian.'

'You might scare him into confession. Maybe. Or he might just try to rape you again,'

'If he did try that, he'd get a big surprise, wouldn't he?'

Starsky looked back and forth between Hutch and the prince as they planned out a campaign against Simon Starsky.

'Hey! Hold on. Wait a minute,' He said.

'What's the matter? Don't you think I can handle Cousin Simon?'

'Of course you can handle him,' said Starsky. His voice dripped with scorn, but the scorn was not for Hutch. 'You can chew him up and spit him out with one hand tied behind your back. That's not the point. You're not doing it without me there to watch your back.'

'And you need a witness,' added the prince. 'Just on the off chance he confesses.'

'Good idea, and I figured on Starsky being with me, anyway.'

Hutch's face began to metamorphose back to its usual masculine form. The others all watched in fascination. Then they heard a loud crash in the doorway. Ignatios had dropped the tray of refreshments and was staring at Hutch in fear and horror.

Hutch got to his feet, and started towards Ignatios. 'It's all right, man. Everything is back to normal. Nothing to be afraid of.'

His voice was soft and calming, but it had no effect. Ignatios ran off in terror. Viggo strolled over and began to eat the little finger sandwiches and small cakes that were now scattered all over the floor.

'Well,' observed Hutch. 'I guess Lady Sweet Angel will just have to stay for dinner.'

****************

'But why do you think that men hate women?'

'That's just how it seems to me. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything.'

'No, no,' the prince answered Sweet Angel. 'I'm interested in what you have to say. I'm not angry. I agree, men have not treated women well in the past, but we're improving. I think so, at least. Perhaps I'm wrong. But hatred? No. Not men in general.'

'I suppose it's the experiences I've had as a whore,' she said.

They were in the small dining room. It had three couches. Starsky was sharing his couch with Hutch, who was spooned up against his chest quite comfortably. Prince Marcus had asked to share his with Sweet Angel. At first, there had been quite a bit of room between them, but now, she was leaning back against his chest, almost as comfortable as Hutch. The prince ran his hand down her arm, and answered her.

'But I truly do not think you can judge all men, and their feelings about women, by the sort of men you meet in a whorehouse. What do you think, David? Do you hate women?'

'Jupiter's balls, no. Neither does Hutch.'

'But you're married to each other. Forgive me, I don't mean to say these things. I must have had too much to drink.'

'We all have. This is a dinner party after all,' Starsky answered her. 'But if you mean that we are married to each other because we hate women, or even that we couldn't find any women good enough to marry, that's just not true. Hutch and I just fell in love. That was all. Women are beautiful. I love them.'

'So do I,' said the prince. 'I love their hair, and their soft breasts. And their sweet smells when you kiss them here.' He let his hand move further down from her waist. It was a caress, not a grope. She knew the difference.

'I was married to a woman,' said Hutch. 'But it didn't work out. I guess I wasn't man enough for her.'

Sweet Angel wondered what sort of cold hearted bitch could think that. She tried to say something, but Prince Marcus' hand was doing strange things to her abdominal muscles and she couldn't seem to gather her thoughts, or catch her breath to speak.

Starsky was stroking Hutch's shoulder, gently, gently, wondering if he dared to explore further, here in front of others. He looked up, and caught the prince's eye. They exchanged a long look, and nodded in agreement.

'Prince Marcus?'

'Yes, David?'

'Why don't you offer a prayer to one of the Gods or Goddesses? Choose one to bless our gathering.'

'Very well. I call upon Eros and Aphrodite to join our gathering, and bless it.'

Sweet Angel gasped. The Prince could not be serious. Here? Did he mean he truly wanted to....

'Marcus? Starsky?'

'Now, now Hutch. You're in Rome, remember? When in Rome, do as the Romans.'

'But Starsky. I can't. I could never.... Not with other people.'

'No, no. Marcus didn't mean all four of us at once. Did you, Marcus?' Starsky glared at the prince. He better not have meant that.

'Of course not. I know my Kenneth from a way back. We stay on our own couches. But we worship the God and the Goddess of Love. I have invited them to the Feast. It would be sacrilege now, to turn them away.'

Starsky clapped his hands for Ignatios, and asked him to bring more wine, the best they had.

'Then send the other servants to bed. We have all we need for now. Close the doors and stand guard. We're not to be disturbed for anything.'

'Yes, Sir.'

He had managed to gather together the shreds of his composure. Starsky had spoken to him, assuring him there was nothing to fear, and that his Witch mate had no intentions of turning him into a frog. If Master David said so.

The wine was fetched. The doors shut. The prince spoke up. 'How shall we begin?' Starsky got to his feet and began to unwind his toga. 'Let's get comfortable. Is it warm enough in here?'

'If it isn't now, it soon will be,' opined the prince. 'Who needs a fire, with so beautiful an avatar of the Goddess of Love sitting on their couch? My dear, remember what Catullus said to his lover, Lesbia? 'This sun once set will rise again, when our sunsets follow night and an endless sleep. Kiss me now a thousand times and now a hundred more and then a hundred and a thousand more again till with so many hundred thousand kisses you and I shall both lose count.'

Marcus had, in the meantime, begun to remove his own toga. Sweet Angel lay back on her couch, thinking that those really were some good drugs she had taken the other night, after all. Yes. Very good. The prince's skin gleamed, black in the light of the Etruscan chandelier. The lights of a hundred candles danced over his massive shoulders and chest. All for her.

'May I see your breasts?'

'What? Oh, yes, sorry.' She sat up quickly, too quickly, and felt dizzy. The prince caught her, gently, in his strong arms.

'Shh. It's all right. No hurry. We have plenty of time, don't we?'

'Yes. We do.' She slipped her dress off her shoulders, held it for a moment just above the tips of her breasts, and then let it fall.

'So lovely,' the prince commented. 'May I?' No one asked, she thought. When had anyone ever asked?

'Of course,' she answered breathlessly.

His large, dark hand caressed a nipple, gently, then moved over to the other. The contrast of his blackness against her blondeness was exciting and erotic. It conjured up images. Images of his black body entering her pale one. 'Look,' he said, and indicated the other couch, the one on which David Starsky and Kenneth Hutchinson were regarding each other with love. Starsky had managed to convince Hutch not to be embarrassed, and the blond man had relaxed, now that he was sure where this was going.

'Remember, I told you I would sacrifice to Eros,' Starsky said. 'I did, and the God of Love has blessed me. You are the God of Love made flesh, just for me.'

Starsky was naked now, but Hutch was only bare to the waist. Starsky murmured something in his lover's ear, and Hutch laughed, then let Starsky divest him of all his clothes. Sweet Angel gasped. She had never seen two such beautiful men make love before.

Starsky was kissing and licking all down his lover's chest, to his hard, erect cock. In one swift movement he swallowed the cock and began to suck. Hutch was moaning, thrusting upwards, into his lover's mouth.

Marcus was touching her, urging her to take off the rest of her clothes.

'They're beautiful, aren't they? But they're getting way ahead of us.'

Sweet Angel had not been aware this was a race, but now it sounded like a good idea. The blood was pounding in her head, in her breasts, between her legs. She cried out, unable to restrain the desire that she had thought was dead.

She felt Marcus' hand between her thighs, and opened them eagerly. Oh, how she wanted him to look at her, to find her beautiful.

'Please. Please. Please,' she gasped over and over. She couldn't seem to say it often enough. His hand found her clitoris, and stroked it. She thrust her hips up to meet his downward stroke. 'You're all wet and gleaming,' he said, approvingly. 'Are you ready for me already?' Already? She was starved for him, had been for years. Years of deprivation, because the only men who wanted her, wanted her as a commodity, as a means of their own pleasure. She cried out, screamed, 'Please!'

She felt him enter her, huge and long and thick. Filling her. Taking her over the edge, into a red, fiery holocaust of ecstasy.

She didn't hear the cry of joy from the next couch. Not consciously did she hear it. But on some mystic level, that cry seemed to join with her own.

*****************

Someone was licking Hutch's face. 'Mph,' he said. 'Starsky?'

'Woof!'

'Oh. Viggo. What's the matter? Need to go outside?'

Viggo whined. Hutch touched his mind, and let the images flow. Viggo had heard something. He had felt something. Someone was trying to climb the garden wall, at the back of the villa. Gillian's spirit rejoined him, and agreed.

'Starsky?' Hutch nudged his lover awake, and reached for his clothes. Somehow, he found a tunic in the pile on the floor beside their couch. Then another. He handed one to Starsky.

'What's wrong?'

'There's someone trying to break in to our house, Marc. But don't worry. We'll take care of it.'

'What are they after? You got gold stored here? Drugs?'

'Never mind. Starsky? You awake?'

'Yes.'

Starsky dragged his eyes open, and pulled on the tunic that Hutch handed him. In traditional Roman fashion from long ago, it was short. It was usually worn as part of an ensemble along with a toga, but there was no time for that now. The prince was tugging his own tunic over his head. Sweet Angel was awake, looking adorably mussed and confused.

'What's wrong?' she asked in her turn.

'Intruders,' the prince told her.

Starsky went to the door of the dining room. Ignatios was just outside, standing there looking uncertain, with his hand raised to knock.

'Sirs,' he said. 'I know you said not to disturb you, but you also said....'

'To let us know if anyone else tried to invade the villa. We know,' said Starsky.

'There's a car in the back lane,' added Hutch. 'And one man about to climb the fence.'

Ignatios agreed. He was fast losing any ability to feel surprise at anything that happened in this household. He wondered if that were a good thing, or if it were a sign he was finally going insane.

'I have your revolver, Sir.'

'Good man, Ignatios. Just keep your head, and you'll survive living here. You'll see.'

'Yes, Sir.'

Starsky pulled his service revolver out of the box Ignatios handed him. He took out the ordinary clip, and put another one in instead.

'That fires a tracking bullet,' Prince Marcus observed.

'Yes. I don't want to kill this man. I've killed one of them already. I stuck his head on a pole at the front of the house. A few days later, they're back. They don't listen to warnings.'

'So, you want to track them down, and wipe them out. Who are they? Rival smugglers?'

'Marcus!' said Hutch. 'The Starsky family are not smugglers.'

'Like Hades, they're not. The only reason I put up with them, is that they smuggle good stuff, and don't make too much of a scandal about it. Nice, quiet, polite smugglers. Usually. What is this fuss over, David? Drugs?'

'No. Not drugs, Dominus. I'll tell you later. Come on. Let's deal with this first.'

The four of them followed Ignatios to the back door of the villa, overlooking the garden wall.

'The men you had stationed in the garden alerted me, as you told them to do,' said Ignatios. 'But they haven't given any sign they noticed the activity.'

'Good,' said Starsky.

They waited, in the darkened doorway, while someone climbed up on the wall. He was dressed all in black, as had been the first intruder. Starsky raised his revolver, waited until the intruder was poised on top of the wall, then fired.

The shot rang out, clear as a clap of thunder in the night. The man on the wall cried out and fell backwards, into the alley, as the bullet hit his shoulder. There was a scuffle as one or more other smugglers ran to rescue him. A car door slammed, and the car drove off, very fast.

'Run,' said Starsky. 'It won't save you.'

*********************

'Well, well. So this is what all the fuss is about? And these are cocoons? Fascinating!'

'Marcus, Marcus. What is it about you and Starsky? Didn't either of you manage to learn any biology in school?'

'I'm only interested in one aspect of biology, Ken. Perhaps David is the same.'

Starsky and Marcus grinned at each other. It seemed they had reached an understanding which included admiration. The admiration had something sexual about it, but Hutch didn't feel any hint of desire between them. Quite likely, they were too much alike to wish to be lovers. Last night, they had had several occasions to witness each other's sexual prowess, and had been mutually appreciative.

'These are indeed cocoons, the cocoons of the silkworm,' Hutch added.

'Silk? Worm? Silk comes from worms?'

'In a sense, yes, Sweet Angel. They aren't really worms, though, not like earthworms. They're moths. They hatch from eggs, turn into larvae that eat leaves, then they spin these cocoons, and the thread of the cocoons is silk. The very silk that makes up the dress you are wearing comes from cocoons like these.'

Starsky spoke up. 'The silkworms live in Cathay. The people there have kept the secret for thousands of years, but somehow the secret got out.'

'It was a Norwegian who set up the plot to get the silkworms out of Cathay. Here. Look.' Hutch pulled a map out of desk in the corner of the room. He unfolded it, and pointed out where Cathay was.

'Way over here to the east. It's never been mapped, of course, at least not by any explorers from the West. The smugglers got hold of some larvae, just as they were about to enter the pupal stage. They did this at the furthest western point in Cathay that they could manage, to cut down on the journey home. Then, they headed North. They walked, used skis, and ice boats, and dog sleds and every possible method of transportation set up in relay.'

'Some plan!'

'Yes. And it worked. They made it to the waystation, which had been stocked with Mulberry trees, just in time. When the cocoons opened, the cages were ready. The moths mated, and laid eggs. The larvae ate the Mulberry leaves, and turned into cocoons.'

'The smugglers continued their journey and made it down to Norway,' Starsky added. 'But then they discovered that spies from Cathay were after them, trying to find the larvae, to destroy them before the smugglers could set up a silk factory.'

'Some of their stock of larvae had died, and they were down to a dozen,' Hutch continued. 'They had to get them out of Norway before the spies found them, or their entire, very expensive enterprise would be a bust. They were waiting in the harbour when we arrived to board our ship. Someone noticed Starsky, and remembered hearing about rumours of arrangements with Customs.'

'Hutch! Traitor!'

'Arrangements? Did you hear something about arrangements, Sweet Angel?'

'No, Dominus. Must have been the wind.'

'Yes. Sorry. Go on, Ken.'

'So, they passed the larvae on to us.'

'They used us as unwitting couriers,' Starsky said, bitterly.

'A crime which cannot go unpunished. I agree, and won't interfere. It's up to you.'

'Thanks, Marc. They followed us to Rome, and tried to get the larvae back. But Viggo chased the intruder out of our bedroom, right into my arms. He stabbed me, but it was just a scratch. Starsky questioned him, and learned all we needed to know, before the man died.'

'Efficient interviewer, David.'

'Thanks, my prince.'

'Well, this has been an interesting and informative night, to be sure. Lady Sweet Angel, I'll give you a lift home. You must be tired.'

Sweet Angel did, indeed, look thoroughly and satisfactorily worn out.

'The tracking bullet should be taking effect by dawn. Do you need any extra manpower, David?'

'No, Marcus. I bought more slaves right after the first invasion, and I can call on the family slaves as well.'

Starsky and Hutch walked their guests to the door to see them off. Prince Marcus' chauffeur managed to look reasonably awake and alert, as he emerged from the slave quarters where he'd been 'resting', though Starsky thought he looked as if he hadn't had all that much rest. Prince Marcus leaned over and kissed Hutch on the lips. Starsky didn't feel a twinge of jealousy at this. He had demonstrated his ownership of Hutch's body and soul for hours last night.

'It was good to see you again, my dear,' said the prince.

Hutch laughed. 'Good to see you, too. Enjoy the rest of your night.'

'I will,' said the prince, looking at Sweet Angel, with an impish expression.

Marcus closed the limousine door behind them, and sat across from her in the dark interior of the car.

'I can drop you off at home, if you like,' he said. 'Or you can come back to my place. Spend the night. Well, what's left of it.' He grinned at her, like a little boy suggesting they go skinny dipping.

She had a sudden flashback to a couple of hours ago. They had all taken turns demonstrating their oral sex techniques. She with Marcus. Ken with David. Marcus with her. David with Ken. They had all declared their lovers the winners, and asked them to claim whatever they wanted as a victory prize.

Marcus had spread her out on the coffee table, knelt between her thighs, and bent over her breasts. He had sucked one of her breasts into his mouth and stroked her to orgasm with his fingers. He had told them all that her screams of pleasure were of more value than any olive wreath won by an Olympic victor.

'Yes,' she said. 'Let's go to your place.' I don't really have a home, she thought. How can a brothel be a home? There isn't a room in the whole place just for me. I've never tried to make a home. Why not? Why have I let myself sink this low?

'If you liked,' said the prince. 'I could find you an apartment. You could give it up. Being a Madam, I mean. But only if you liked the idea.'

'That's very kind of you, but I don't think it would work.'

'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you, I just wanted to make the offer. It was genuine. I had the impression that you didn't enjoy being a prostitute any more.'

'I've never enjoyed being a prostitute. It's a living. The only one I know. But I'm an independent woman. I own my own business, and I don't have to depend on anyone else.'

'Ah. It's the business end of it you like. Excuse my bad pun.'

'I was born in a brothel, you know. I've never known any other life. I'd go mad in a year or two, if I had nothing to do. Besides, if something happened to you, your family would.... My apologies, Dominus. I didn't mean to....'

'No apologies are necessary. My name is Marcus. I keep telling you. If you don't stop calling me Dominus, I'll start calling you Domina. A fair number of my relatives, and most of my ancestors, are murdering brigands. We became the rulers of the Empire by killing off anyone who could possibly be our rivals. I don't see that that makes us any better than whores. Perhaps we're even worse. At least you provide a public service. But I don't know what to do with you. You and Ken, I mean. I love you both, and I want to show my love. And the two of you are so damned proud, and keep brushing me off.'

'Love?' The word came out as a squeak.

'I don't know all the details of my reputation. I have better things to do with my time than listen to gossip. But I wasn't aware that I was considered a libertine, the sort of man who mounts everything on two legs that happens by.'

'No,' she choked. 'They don't say anything like that about you.'

'Good. I may be, as Ken is fond of telling me, patronizing. But I'm not a depraved whoremonger.'

'No.'

'If I ask someone to live with me, or at least to live in a home which I have made for them, it's because I feel some affection for them, at the very least.'

'Dominus.'

'Domina.'

'I can't live with you.'

'That's understandable.'

'But you can visit me.'

'I'd like that.'

'I won't charge you anything.'

'Gratias! At the rates you charge, and the frequency with which I would need to visit you, I'd soon be bankrupt, and I'd have to start selling off my Imperial jewels.'

'Dominus?'

'Domina?'

'I won't see anyone else. I mean, I'll let all my clients go. Pass them on to the other girls.'

'Can you afford that?'

'Oh, yes. I was keeping them out of force of habit anyway.'

He leaned forward, and spoke in a low, conspiratorial voice.

'If it's business that you like, why don't we go into business together?'

'Business, Dominus?'

'Yes, Domina. Business. For an example, Ken and David. It's going to be some years before they see a return on their investment with the silkworms. Why don't we offer to invest some capital?'

'You think it's possible? That we can actually set up a factory, I mean?'

'Why not? The people of Cathay did it thousands of years ago. Are we that backward in comparison?'

'In bed already? Look at you,' Starsky said. 'You look like Dionysos after an all-night binge. All flushed and... flushed.'

Starsky crawled up the bed toward Hutch on his hands and knees.

'Don't you ever get tired?'

'No. Aren't you glad? Do you want me to get tired?'

'No, but... get up here.'

'There. Is that up enough for you?'

'Very impressive, but... Starsky, let me say something, will you?'

'Talk? You want to talk?'

'Yes. I want to know -- are you angry?'

'Angry? No. Do you want me to be angry?'

'Of course not.'

'By Jupiter's balls! Hutch, we went through all this angst over me being your master, and how often do I ever get the chance? Hmm? How often?'

'Maybe later.'

'Thanks. But why am I going to be angry? Just for later reference.'

'I didn't want to do some of the things you wanted. I couldn't Starsky. It didn't feel right.'

'I wasn't angry. You would have made me angry if you'd agreed, just to conform. And another thing. Once I would have fucked everyone in the room, just to make a point. It's not necessary, Hutch. Besides, I had the impression neither Marcus nor Sweet Angel wanted that, either.'

'I saw you watching them. It excited you.'

'Hell, yes. Two beautiful, naked, sweaty bodies, coupling like... this... like... this....'

'Starsky!'

'Who wouldn't get excited. I'd have to be dead. And I'm far from dead.'

'I noticed. Starsky. Harder.'

'In time. Now, I've been wanting this all night, but it was worth waiting for. I'm not angry. Unless you want me to be angry, remember? I could spank you? Hutch? You want me to spank you?'

'Later... Harder.'

'You see? What kind of master am I? Spank me later, Master! Fuck me harder, Master!'

'Well, do it. What's taking you so fucking long?'

*******************

'We need a car, that's what we need,' Starsky announced.

'A car?' Hutch said, with disdain. 'Cars are noisy. I like horses better.'

'Horses are smelly. I think we need a car. I'm the master of this household. We're getting a car.'

'If you say so,' Hutch acquiesced, blandly. He heard what sounded suspiciously like a snicker behind him, but when he turned, Ignatios was studying the floor with intense interest. Hutch coughed. Ignatios looked up, quickly. Hutch smiled. Ignatios turned white.

'Master?' Ignatios asked.

'Is everything ready?' Hutch asked, unnecessarily.

'Yes, Sir.'

'Good. Starsky?'

'Master?'

'What is that?'

'What is what?'

'That thing in your hand?'

'It's a tracker, Master. It's linked to the bullet I fired into that lunatic last night. See?' Starsky indicated the wand-like device he held. 'It looks like a magical wand of some sort. That's to fool people into thinking it is magical, and can't be used by just anyone. But in fact, it's technology. I shot the bullet into the man's shoulder. It shattered on impact, as it was designed to do. The tiny fragments of the bullet invaded his bloodstream, his bone marrow. Hell, by now, they're lodged in his brain. His entire body is sending signals to this wand, and no matter where he goes, I can find him.'

'Oh. That's really useful, Starsky. I've never heard of anything like it.'

'It's a secret weapon, designed by Army Intelligence, several years ago. I have access to all that stuff, as an MP. Or I did.'

'I'm sure Marcus will see to it that you still do. So, where is this man, then?'

Starsky led the way outside, where the other servants chosen for this mission waited with the horses. He began to turn slowly, watching the wand in his hand, until some signal or other alerted him.

'He's off to the east,' he announced. They mounted their horses. Some of the other, more senior servants were mounted as well. The newer slaves ran alongside. They weren't riding too fast, as speed was not really necessary at this point.

'What's the point of a car, Starsky? They're things, machines. You can't be one with them, like you are with a horse. I can almost hear this one thinking.'

'Thinking? Thinking what? That he'd rather be at home in his nice warm stable? Fucking some pretty little mare?'

'He's a gelding, Starsky.'

'Now that's cruel, Hutch. Just cruel to do that to a poor, innocent animal.'

'It's not my fault. I didn't geld him. Starsk?'

'Yeah, what? Hutch? You okay?'

'That's the necropolis, Starsky.'

'Yeah. The signal is leading us there. This must be where they're holed up. Gods! What's the matter, Hutch?'

'Gillian. She just left me. I bound her to me and the house, and told her never to come back here. She had to leave and return to the house. She was a bit upset, too.'

'Because this is where she died?'

'Yes. I'll be fine.'

'Okay. But Gods, you scare me sometimes, Hutch.'

'You'll get used to it. I'm stronger than you think.'

They were in the public cemetery, now, graves and mausoleums all around them. Some graves had simple gravestones. Others were marked with statues of the deceased, painted to show how they had looked in real life. Since this was a public graveyard, not one owned by an aristocratic family, large mausoleums were scarce. But there were a few, most of them rather old, some going back to Etruscan times. They had all been carefully maintained, for no one wanted to arouse the ire of the dead.

No one, it appeared, but the smugglers. Starsky stopped his mount, not far from one of the oldest of the Etruscan houses of the dead.

'Appropriate.' he observed. 'How kind of them to save us the trouble of finding a place to bury them.'

They dismounted from their horses, and Starsky gathered the men around them. He glanced at Hutch, but Hutch looked unreachable. Cold, distant and of another world entirely. He had insisted on not using the revolver Starsky had tried to give him, digging out of his luggage some ancient sword that looked as if it had belonged to a long-dead Viking warrior ancestor. Starsky thought those sorts of weapons were buried with their owners. It was where they belonged. Hutch said that his daimon had told him what weapon to use. Perhaps there is something in what he said that day, thought Starsky. Perhaps he truly isn't able to deal with everyday reality. Then it is up to me. So be it.

He heard voices behind them. It was a group of men, including someone who looked to be the groundskeeper, judging by his dress and grass-stained knees.

'You!' one of the men spoke up. 'What are you doing here? This is a cemetery, not a public park.'

'We know,' said Starsky. 'I am David Starsky, and this is my husband, Kenneth Hutchinson. We live on the Esquiline Hill, not far from here. Twice in the last week, armed men have invaded our home. We have traced them to this graveyard, and we think they are hiding in that mausoleum. We carry the warrant of Prince Marcus, who witnessed the last invasion himself.'

Starsky drew a small scroll from his coat. It had arrived by special courier, just after dawn. He handed it to the men. They looked it over, and agreed it bore the seal of the prince, and granted Starsky and Hutch the right to seek vengeance on their attackers.

The scroll bore another seal. It said : CARNIFEX. This granted them the powers of an Imperial Executioner.

'The men you seek may well be in that tomb, but beware,' one of the men told them. 'There are restless spirits about. One of them attacked a young woman who was late in leaving her husband's grave last night. She was so frightened out of her wits, that she has not spoken since. That is why we are here, to see if the spirits can be appeased.'

Hutch said something in his strange, barbaric tongue. His eyes looked so pale, they were almost silver, and the pupils had all but disappeared.

'It was not spirits who attacked the woman,' said Hutch. 'The spirits tell me that mortals have invaded their home, as they invaded ours. If we roust the invaders, they will accept appeasement.'

Starsky spoke up. 'My husband is a powerful mage. He knows how to control the spirits.'

The men looked a little dubious. Hutch was so obviously not a proper Roman mage. But Ignatios spoke up, surprisingly.

'My master is indeed a powerful wi... mage. He can control spirits. I have seen it with my own eyes.'

Starsky nodded approvingly to Ignatios, and approached Hutch, cautiously.

'Are there dangerous spirits around the mausoleum door?'

'No. The door is safe. The spirits know what we have planned.'

Starsky quickly organized his party into groups, sending one to the back of the mausoleum, just in case the smugglers had dug out an escape route there. The rest he split into two groups, one for each side of the door. The groundskeeper went with Starsky. He had the large key that could open the door to the house of the dead.

The stone doors creaked open. Some of the smugglers tried to storm their way out, but were caught in Starsky's net. Starsky fired his revolver with deadly accuracy. He had loaded it with small explosive bullets, and the men he shot blew up and littered the ground around the mausoleum with their brains and guts. The others quickly surrendered. Starsky slit their throats.

He was standing there, surveying the mess with quiet pride. His men were looking at him with a curious mixture of terror and admiration. The groundskeeper was wringing his hands over all the blood.

'Look, man,' said Starsky. 'There is no better fertilizer than blood and guts. Or so my old captain used to say.' He looked around. 'Where's Hutch?'

'He went inside the mausoleum, Sir,' said Ignatios.

Starsky went to the door of the house of the dead. It had clearly been lived in, but it was empty of all living beings now, except for Hutch. 'Come on, Babe. We got them all. They're all dead.'

'No. There's one still alive. In here.'

'Where?'

Ignatios and one or two of the other men had followed them inside. Hutch appeared agitated at this.

'Get them out, Starsky. They don't belong here.' 'Neither do you, Babe. Come on. It's all over. Let's go home.'

Hutch turned on him, suddenly. 'Get them out!' he screamed. 'Get them out. Now!'

'Ignatios, get the other men outside and wait for us. We'll be out soon.'

Ignatios left, and Starsky walked closer to Hutch. Slowly. Very gently he touched Hutch's arm. 'What's wrong, Hutch?'

'There is still one smuggler in here. I know this. The spirits tell me this.'

'Okay. Then where is he?'

Starsky looked around the single room. It was filled with old bones, and some older coffins. But there was no place for anyone to hide quickly, that he could see.

Hutch was looking around very carefully, but he was calmer now. He touched the wall, in various places. Then he seemed to get excited again.

'The wall here is hollow in places. There are chambers built in. Tombs maybe?'

'Tombs inside a tomb?'

'Or places to store the belongings of the dead? Who knows? But someone is hiding in here.'

Starsky felt a cold shiver go down his spine. He wished that Hutch had allowed the other men to stay. Starsky was no coward, but who knew who was hiding in this house of the dead. Or what, he thought.

'Here,' said Hutch. 'She's in here.'

Hutch was studying the wall before him, carefully. He pressed on the stone carvings here and there, but without luck, and Starsky could see he was growing frustrated.

'Let me try, Babe. Come on, we'll do it systematically. You're just counting on luck.'

Starsky started at the top of the wall, and moved down, tapping on every inch of stone. He was about half the way down, when he heard a grinding noise and suddenly a large section of the stone wall swung out.

Starsky jumped back just in time, as a dark-clad figure leapt out. He saw a flash of silver, a knife aimed for his heart. Then another flash, larger this time. It was Hutch's sword. There was a choked-off cry, and a fountain of blood. A head landed on the ground at Starsky's feet. Starsky looked up at Hutch, a Hutch who was as pale and spirit-like as Starsky had ever seen him.

'Move back, Starsky,' he said. Starsky stepped back.

Hutch stepped up to the severed head and removed the scarf that covered the face. It was the face of Vanessa.

Hutch turned to the headless body next, and drew something out of his coat. A wooden stake? He was about to stab the body of his former wife through the heart! Before he could, though, the head slid back along the ground and rejoined the body. Vanessa stood up, her body covered in blood, but alive once more.

'Ken. Ken. You can't kill me that easily. Not now. I've discovered some new powers, and if your home were not so well-guarded, I'd have what I came for. Why so stubborn, Ken? We were good together once. If you hadn't been so useless in the real world, we could have had unlimited power. But we still could, you know.'

'You expect me to believe that? Now that I know what you really are? I loved you once. I tried to be the husband I was supposed to be. Everything you did that I knew was wrong, I blamed on myself. You fell into evil because of my weakness, I thought. But I spent last night with a whore, and her soul was as unsullied as a child's. The spirits here tell me you have gone beyond saving. And any evil you have committed is your fault.'

Hutch raised the sword again. Vanessa tried to move, but the loss of blood had weakened her.

'You invaded my Lord's house,' Hutch continued. 'Then you tried to kill him. Prince Marcus has sentenced you to death, and so has my Lord.'

Starsky roused himself out of his shock to shout, 'No! Hutch. Let me.'

But it was too late. The sword swung a second time. Again, Vanessa's head fell to the ground.

This time, Hutch was quick enough. The wooden stake pierced her heart. Vanessa did not move again.

Hutch knelt beside Vanessa's body for a long moment. He bent and kissed her mouth, gently, then he picked up his sword, and got to his feet. Starsky started toward him, slowly, as he might approach a wild animal -- a wild animal which had been mortally wounded, but was still a formidable opponent.

Hutch turned the sword point up, in front of his own chest, and bent over it to fall upon the blade. Starsky threw himself at Hutch and knocked the sword away. He pulled Hutch into his arms, but Hutch pushed him back, with a cry of agonized repulsion.

'Hutch?'

Hutch didn't seem to hear him. He walked out the mausoleum door, as if Starsky didn't exist. Starsky watched him leave. He bent over Vanessa's headless body, and pulled her coat back from her shoulder. There, right where Starsky had put it, was the scar of the tracking bullet, now almost healed.

Prince Marcus and the Praetorian Guard had joined the party, by the time he left the mausoleum. Marcus dismounted, and surveyed the carnage with professional appreciation.

'Nice,' he commented. 'From your Red Period?'

'Marcus,' Starsky said, the warning clear. The prince studied him for a long moment, then looked at Hutch. Hutch stood beside his horse, as welcoming as a marble statue. Starsky wasn't sure how much longer he could have gone without screaming at Hutch, an exercise which would have been useless as always, but at least would have made Starsky feel better, if Hutch hadn't suddenly thrown himself into his saddle and ridden off toward the cemetery gates. Starsky mounted his own horse quickly, and rode after him.

They were stopped at the gates by the crush of onlookers, trying to see what was going on. A woman came running up, crying out, 'Where is the mage, the one who killed the evil spirits?' Someone pointed to Hutch. The woman ran up to his horse, and grabbed at Hutch's ankle.

'Please, Sir. My daughter -- the one who was attacked by the evil spirit last night -- she speaks again. She wants to see you, to thank you.'

Hutch looked as if he were about to brush the woman off and ride home, but Starsky had had enough. He leaned over, and grabbed Hutch's arm, then nodded at the woman.

'Yes,' he said. 'We'll come to see your daughter.'

***************************

The woman's name was Surinder. Her daughter, Surjeet, met them at the door, pale and tired looking, but eager to thank the man whom she said had saved her life.

Hutch seemed to come to himself a little, though he still ignored Starsky, and Marcus, as if they did not exist.

'I spent too long at my husband's grave,' Surjeet told them. 'I was feeling very lonely, and I wished to talk to his spirit.'

Starsky knew how she felt.

'When I realized how late it was, I started for home. But someone -- someone in dressed in black -- she came out from behind one of the mausoleums.'

'She?' asked Hutch.

'Yes. It was a woman, and not a spirit. I'm sure of both. She had breasts, and she was mortal. Her hands were warm, and she breathed. She bit me. Here.'

Surjeet pulled back her long, black hair, and drew down the neckline of her sari, to show them a small bite mark on her neck.

Hutch asked, quietly, 'She drank your blood?'

'A little. More like she licked it. Then... then she touched me!'

Her mother, Surinder, gasped. 'Touched you?'

'Yes. Like... that.'

'You mean, sexually?' asked Hutch.

Surjeet looked down for a moment, but then lifted her head and looked them all in the eyes, in turn.

'Yes. Sexually. She was stronger than I am, but it wasn't only that. It was as if she drained my resistance. I couldn't move, except how she wanted me to. When it was over, I couldn't speak. I don't know what happened, but somehow I found myself at home.'

'She's been getting weaker and weaker,' put in Surinder. 'Then, less than an hour ago, she woke up.'

'I knew what had happened. The witch had been killed. I knew who had killed her.'

'You were linked to her,' said Hutch. 'By blood, and by sexual energy. That is why she raped you, to create a channel through which to drain your power, slowly. If she had been living in a more convenient location, she might have kept you with her, to watch you suffer, and molest you more. The more you suffered, the more power she would have gained.

'Tell me,' he added. 'Do you wish me to take the memories from you? Or would you rather let them fade with time? Either way, you will heal.'

Surjeet said, 'I can deal with the memories on my own.'

Then she asked, 'Can you?'

*****************************

Starsky dismounted just inside the villa gates, and handed the reins to the waiting groom. He looked around for Hutch, but his lover had disappeared. This had gone on long enough, he thought.

Marcus had also dismounted, and he started for the villa door. Starsky grabbed his arm.

'Just go home, Dominus. I'll take care of this.'

'David, something's really wrong with Ken. He needs his friends.'

'I said I'll handle this,' Starsky yelled.

Utter silence descended on the villa courtyard, as dozens of servants and Praetorians stopped to watch the scene, perhaps expecting the prince to order Starsky's arrest.

Marcus pulled Starsky into his arms. 'You can take care of him, if anyone can,' he whispered into Starsky's ear. 'Do you know what's wrong?'

'It was Vanessa. She was the smuggler who set up the whole scheme. She was the one I shot last night. Hutch had to kill her.'

Marcus pulled back, and looked down at Starsky's face. 'You're right,' he said. 'You handle this.'

Marcus bent and kissed Starsky's forehead, then mounted his horse, and rode off, out the gate.

Starsky turned toward the villa. Hutch was standing in the doorway, a curious expression of sorrow and yearning on his face. He went back inside without acknowledging Starsky's presence.

'Ignatios!'

'Master?'

'Get all the servants out of the house. Don't come inside unless I call you, no matter what you might hear. Do you understand?'

'Yes, Sir.'

'Good. Do it now.'

Ignatios went into the villa. Starsky waited a few minutes, gathering all his courage, then went inside himself.

The villa was silent. He walked through the empty rooms, his anxiety increasing. Perhaps he shouldn't have left Hutch alone even for a moment, he thought, remembering the sword. But he found Hutch in their bedroom, lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Starsky closed the bedroom door, sharply. Hutch didn't react.

'Get on your feet,' Starsky ordered.

'What?'

'I said, get on your feet.'

Hutch got off the bed, and stood up, looking bewildered.

'Now, come over here and get down on your knees.'

'Starsky?'

'Oh. You remember who I am, now. Took you long enough.'

'I know who you are.' Hutch sounded mystified.

'Do you? You've been treating me worse than one of the slaves. Is that what you think I am?'

'No. Why would you think that?'

'You won't talk to me. You won't let me touch you. Come here.'

'What?'

'I said, come here? Are you deaf?'

Hutch walked toward him, still looking mystified. Starsky drew a deep breath, gathering every shred of his resolution.

'Get down on your knees.'

Hutch knelt in front of him, and looked up. His eyes were confused, questioning.

'Suck me,' Starsky ordered. 'Suck my cock.'

'Starsky. No.'

'No? You refuse? You're going to disobey?'

'Starsky, I can't.'

'Why not? Do you hate me now, Hutch? Because you had to kill her, to save me? I'm sorry, but that....'

'No! No, Starsky. I don't hate you. Why would I hate you?'

'I don't know, but that's the way I feel. Who do you hate, if you don't hate me?'

'Starsky,' Hutch whispered. 'I killed her. I cut off her head, and stabbed her in the heart.'

'Yes.' Starsky knelt beside Hutch, and pulled him into his arms. Hutch rested his head on Starsky's shoulder.

'She was my wife, Starsky. I loved her, once. I married her. I promised to protect her, and to command her, and I took responsibility for all her actions. And I never kept my vows. And then I killed her. What sort of monster am I?'

'Monster? What do you mean? It was like you said, Hutch. It was her responsibility, not yours. You didn't make her evil.'

'No. But I let her. I should have been strong enough to protect her, to protect her soul from evil.'

'That's too much to put on anyone. Her soul was her own.'

Hutch was silent for a long moment. Then he whispered, 'Starsky?'

'Yes?'

'Do you feel I've put too much on you? Is that why you wanted to break our vows? I'm not making you responsible for my soul, Starsky. I promise. But if you feel that way....'

Starsky had a fleeting moment of relieved joy. Here it was, a way out. But he felt Hutch shaking in his arms, and remembered that moment of revelation in the cemetery. It was a way out that he couldn't take. The only safe way out, was one that Hutch himself truly wanted.

'No,' he said. 'I don't feel burdened. And your soul is in your own hands.'

Starsky felt Hutch relax. He had made the right choice. They sat on the floor for a long time, just holding each other.

They slept for several hours, curled together in the bed like children. When Starsky woke up, it was late afternoon, and getting on for dinner time. No wonder we fell asleep, he thought. We didn't get much sleep last night, between the orgy and the home invasion. Then there was that little battle this morning.

And the house was so quiet.

The house was so quiet.

'Jupiter's Balls!'

'Wha'? Starsky? What's the matter?'

'The servants!'

'What about them? What are they doing?'

'Nothing. That's just it. I sent them out of the house, until further notice. And there's been no further notice. It's almost dinner time.'

'Why'd you send them out?'

'So we wouldn't be disturbed. Okay, okay. Quit kicking me. I wasn't sure what would happen. I didn't want witnesses.'

'Witnesses to what? Were you going to beat me, if I didn't suck your cock?'

'Of course not. Idiot! I was going to let you beat me, if you needed to, if nothing else worked.'

'That wouldn't have made me feel any better, Starsky.'

Starsky traced his finger from one blond eyebrow, down Hutch's cheek to his throat.

'I know,' he said.

They decided to walk down to the City, and get something to eat at one of the markets on the way. They lived about halfway up the Esquiline Hill. Below them, was the Subura. Taverns and brothels. At this hour, just before nightfall, people were going home from work. Pickpockets prowled the streets, but they stayed far away from the two armed men who walked hand in hand. Hutch walked on Starsky's right side, which left their dominant hands free to reach for weapons. Viggo paced beside them, his ears up and alert.

Hutch stopped suddenly, and bent to push away some leaves from a small stone statue.

'What is this?' he asked.

'It looks Etruscan. Very old.'

'A God, or a Goddess? It's so worn, it's hard to tell.' He wet his fingers in a nearby puddle, and cleaned the statue as well as he could. There didn't seem to be a penis, and there were small mounds on the chest.

'A Goddess,' he said, and smiled. 'I wonder what her name was?'

'I don't know much about the Etruscan religion, but there might be some books in one of the libraries. They're open in the evenings, so we could go and look after dinner, if you like. Why are you so interested?'

'I don't know. I just felt her power as we passed by. She's waking, after who knows how many years, and she feels neglected.'

'Would she mind being moved, do you know?'

Hutch touched the statue again, and whispered the question.

'Yes,' he said. 'She wants to come with us.'

They dug the statue out of the ground, where it was half buried. It was about as long as Starsky's hand. He put it in his pocket, and they resumed their walk.

On the next corner, a half naked prostitute was selling her wares. When she didn't arouse their interest, she lifted her skirt, what there was of it, and pointed to her vulva.

'Don't you want to fuck this?' she asked.

'Not particularly,' said Hutch.

'Well, screw you then,' she screamed.

'Her pimp needs to give her some lessons in public relations,' Starsky commented.

'He's probably in a tavern, drinking her wages.'

The Subura did have a fairly decent food market. There were public stalls selling food from many different nations. Hutch couldn't find any selling Norwegian food, but there were stalls selling cooked sea food. Shrimp. Octopus. Squid. He bought a nice assortment, then found some raw meat for Viggo's dinner.

Starsky noticed a new stall. The food was cooked right out in public, in a big round pot of some kind. Small pieces of meat and vegetables were being fried up quickly in oil.

'Chow,' said the proprietor. 'Want some?'

Starsky nodded, and soon was handed a bowl of the mixture, and some sticks. He looked at the proprietor, and shrugged. The woman picked up another pair of sticks and demonstrated how to use them.

'Chopsticks,' she said.

After a few tries, Starsky seemed to catch on. They sat down on a nearby bench to eat, feeding each other samples of their own dinners with their fingers. Starsky returned the bowl to its owner, but she waved off the chopsticks. He stuck them in his pocket with the goddess statue, then took Hutch's hand again, and they walked down to the City.

They had been so busy since they arrived in Rome, that Hutch had not seen the Forum properly. They had passed through it quickly, of course, and Starsky had proudly pointed out its beauties. But now they could stroll among the glorious statues to the Gods and Goddesses, the Law Courts, and the Curia, the Senate House.

'There is more,' noted Starsky. 'We could walk on to the Colosseum, if you like?'

'No thanks,' Hutch said, quietly. 'I don't need to see criminals being executed.'

Damn!

'I'm sorry, Babe. Not very tactful, am I? The Circus Maximus? Chariot races?'

'Let's just walk around. You said there was a library?'

'Libraries. Lots of them. One right down this street, actually.'

'And we can go inside and look at the books? Marcus said something about it once, I remember.'

'Yes. We can look at the books. We can borrow them, as well. All we have to do is join, become members.'

'Let's do that.'

'Good. And tomorrow, why don't we take a ride out of the city. Find a quiet place to have a picnic? Make love out of doors?'

'Yes,' Hutch pulled Starsky into a tight embrace. 'Give the servants the day off. Maybe we could even sleep outside, under the stars?'

Starsky restrained his instinctive shudder at the very idea. Marriage involved compromise, he thought. And that meant occasionally doing things that you really didn't want to do. A night under the stars in the dead of winter was something he thought he'd left behind him when he returned to civilized society, but his lover was still a barbarian at heart. Starsky liked that. He had no wish to tame Hutch completely.

 

*** The End ***


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